


Debase

by charcoalscenes



Series: Backdated Publications [8]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Fantasy, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Other, Psychic Bond, Rape/Non-con Elements, Vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29637255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalscenes/pseuds/charcoalscenes
Summary: A rebellion pitting a group of the Numbers against Astral in the midst of a war involving Barian World has failed. The war ended, Ninety-six is stripped of power, and spends three days under home arrest while awaiting their sentence for spearheading the rebellion. The one who Astral entrusts to keep Ninety-six under control by forced, temporary psychic bonding is none other than Yuma Tsukumo.(Posted to AO3 on February 2021 with a Backdated Publication date from when it posted to Tumblr.)
Relationships: Astral/Tsukumo Yuuma, No. 96 Black Mist | Dark Mist/Tsukumo Yuuma
Series: Backdated Publications [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2170983
Kudos: 1





	Debase

**Author's Note:**

> Actual publication into AO3 is on February 2021. This is an old piece I shared on Tumblr and wanted to post using this site's Backdate feature. More older fics will likely be added onto the Backdated Publications series, so for anyone interested in this piece or in checking out the others, enjoy!

Even before a proper meeting, before Yuma had been faced with Ninety-six directly and it’d only been the Number watching him from afar, as Ninety-six had sensed the determination from Yuma when he knew that Astral was counting on him, Ninety-six was already jealous.

Months – a year – and a rebellion later, Ninety-six has been forcibly passed through one of Heartland City’s headquarters, and through the inspections of a now fully empowered Astral, stripped of their own strength and humiliatingly trapped in one of Astral’s shuttles. Their own will to do anything about this, to lash out, is stamped down by Astral’s influence overpowering them, and the only thing Ninety-six can do is sulk from within their mobile cell, witness to Yuma’s continued devotion and Astral’s soft smile and soft gazes. 

They know they’re simply being petty when they snap, “Are you done flirting,” and Astral doesn’t even answer, doesn’t give Ninety-six a minute, only glaring at them briefly before moving out of sight.

They’re being petty now, sulking at what seems to be the same scene all over again, except Yuma actually thinks to look at them this time. There’s no devotion when faced with Ninety-six, though; only defiance, objection, while Astral frowns at Yuma like the deeper the arch of their lips, the better chance that the boy will go along with what they’re suggesting now. In the end, there isn’t much other choice.

Individuals of their kind, Astral tries to reason, must have a Keeper each to be a prisoner – to make sure that they behave. Yuma doesn’t see any reasoning in what they’re insisting, though; not in Astral’s initial explanation and not when they attempt to explain the semantics of who they can bond with who. Regardless of Yuma’s limited understanding, or maybe because of it, any arguments he can think to make are in vain, Astral once more inevitably getting their way. 

After Astral leaves, the first day of Yuma as Ninety-six’s Keeper is boring. Ninety-six is ordered to sit on the couch under the watch of a useless robot until Yuma knows what to do with them. Eventually, after a drawn-out moment of Yuma frowning dramatically from across a room over at Ninety-six in disapproval, he bounces onto a seat across from them, and leans forward, growling, “What did you try to destroy the world for, anyway?”

Ninety-six has a real answer, a rational answer, that they could try to argue made sense at the time – and still does. What does this one planet mean, anyway, in light of whole other galaxies? If the enemies of Astral World can be destroyed from so much of their enemies’ kind coming to one planet at once, why not take that chance and just do away with them here with one big blow?

They could say that, and have Yuma disagree, or they could side with the less rational side of the argument, the side they’re unsure how to explain to Yuma but would have had no problem  _ showing _ if Astral hadn’t bound them to him as a Kept prisoner. Something in the way they look at Yuma gives it away, though, somehow, or maybe the boy is actually smarter and more intuitive than he acts, because just as Ninety-six begins to imagine holding Yuma down, tight, his rough breathing and hard muscles shifting and pulsing under Ninety-six’s tentacles, just as Ninety-six wonders how Yuma would taste at being unwrapped, how any little helpless noises from his throat would feel in Ninety-six’s hands and mouth, Yuma jumps out of his seat, staring at Ninety-six with more than disapproval – with fear, all big shining doe eyes and open mouth – and leaves.

In the end, only a handful out of the billions of humans on this planet know about their kind, their war, and while Astral’s abilities have improved since arriving on Earth, they’re still limited enough that their bond with Yuma makes him the only one here who Astral could ask this of. Still, Yuma tries to object just one more time, speaking with Astral over the Gazer in a not-quite-hushed voice, “I know there’s no one else who can do this; I’m sorry, okay? But they can’t stay here. I’m scared, Astral, I’m getting the creeps. I don’t care if they can’t hurt me; I don’t want to be the stupid Keeper. Take them somewhere else!”

There won’t be a “somewhere else” for a few days, at least. That’s when the ship will be ready, when Astral will take Ninety-six and the small group of other Numbers who had joined the rogue’s cause as prisoners alongside the enemies they had aimed to destroy. It will be humiliating being bundled up with them, but for now, Ninety-six lets themself sit back, forgetting their jealousy over the faithfulness Yuma had displayed for Astral back then and relishing in the boy’s seething and squirming under their glare now.

Day two under being Kept watch by Astral’s favorite human helper, Ninety-six seeps through the door to the bathroom and silently watches Yuma bathe behind his back. They hadn’t shared this side of themself with the other Numbers who tried to follow their plan either – if only because they knew they’d be thought of too mad to be led by them. How to describe it, though– just what being in this primitive planet does to them, how it fascinates them – the water covering and sliding down Yuma’s skin, his back, shoulders, thighs, and lower, how Ninety-six’s gaze settles on Yuma’s calves and finds themself admiring their hardness, day-dreaming about muscles shifting and flexing in their mouth, on their tongue, slick with only water at first, and then with anything Ninety-six would allow and encourage to accumulate and spread.

Yuma doesn’t notice until he turns around, and then he screams, yells, and Ninety-six deems to ignore everything he says until “–Astral–” comes up. "–did the same damn thing but you should know this already! A closed, locked door means you don’t come in! You hear me? You stay out of closed locked doors from now on! Hey! Aren’t you leaving yet?“

Astral has seen him too.

Ninety-six is gritting their teeth once they drift from the bathroom, fists forced down to their sides because Yuma had already ordered them not to destroy anything either, and no matter the extent of their anger, Ninety-six has no choice but to obey. 

Astral has seen him too, they repeat to themself, imagining Yuma splashing water on himself, arms raised and hands running through his hair, and Astral in the same room. Did Yuma mind, when it was Astral? Did Yuma yell and scold just as loud? Would he have just let Astral in, over time, welcoming the stupid wood-faced stare and ridiculous curiosity and willingness to try useless human habits? Was Yuma still staring at Astral the way he had when Ninety-six saw him for the first time, all acceptance and care?

They ignore Yuma’s footsteps behind them, and Yuma curses at seeing them there, in his room. He sighs, exasperated. "Get lost, will ya?” Ninety-six peeks at him just to glare. Yuma is all dry now, covered only with a towel, and Ninety-six briefly entertains the thought of lashing out, letting loose as many extra limbs as they can and making Yuma wet all over again on the spot, because it’s such a waste, after the sight of him moments ago, for him to be so clean and dry so soon.

Yuma shivers, freezes, before his gaze snaps up and he glares. Ninety-six feels the power Yuma temporarily has over them push them away, and once more, they’re kicked out by their Keeper.

It’s frustrating, being so overpowered.

Yuma glowers at them later, too, on the third night, as the boy shuffles into the kitchen. No one but him and the robot are home, and so Ninety-six suspects that Yuma lets them stay out of loneliness. The robot is silent tonight, and the only sounds in the kitchen are the whirring of its wheels as it travels to the table, setting Yuma’s still-smoking food in front of him. 

“Steak,” it informs, and Yuma blinks at the dish before blushing.

“O-Obomi…! Thanks!” He smiles, the tension in his shoulders from having a war criminal so close to him washing off for the moment. “You worked hard tonight, huh? Are you only gonna be like this when we’re alone?” He teases. 

Obomi doesn’t reply. Ninety-six leans on the wall, watching Yuma pick up the silverware Ninety-six had observed, along with Astral and Hope, humans use before. The fork stabs into the meat snugly, light wisps of smoke escaping from the wounds Yuma makes in it. His other hand moves the knife beside the fork, slicing through soft, unresistant flesh, and Ninety-six has always seen that this – the languid way with which humans cut through their meals, the mundane violence mixed with the childish, curious glee over the prospect of the food’s taste – is one of their favorite things about humans. 

Yuma, the fool, averts his eyes and chews, suddenly, like what’s in his mouth disgusts him, but the look has nothing to do with the food and everything to do with him asking Ninety-six, probably out of compassion, out of pity, “Do you eat?”

“No,” Ninety-six answers right away, sneering, scrunching and tilting up their face – all indications of offense. “My body isn’t that weak.” 

Yuma shoots them a dirty look. He shows off, then, as a ridiculous way of revenge, tearing off a piece of meat with his teeth and chomping. “Mmm~!” Yuma teases, sucking on the food in his mouth. “Delicious! Too bad you’re too much of a snob to know what this could feel like,” he grounds out, crouching over his plate and devouring his food angrily.

“Eat slowly,” Obomi warns. 

Yuma ignores that, at first, as well as Ninety-six’s eyes on him. It would be delicious, maybe, to have Yuma on a plate, but Ninety-six’s fantasy is defective, and they know it. They imagine playing with a fork, with a knife, bending their wrists – the way the delicate ones of humans do – over Yuma’s throat. But Yuma wouldn’t make those kinds of noises, wouldn’t be humming,  _ mmm _ , should Ninety-six probe a fork into that warm, weak, quivering flesh – no matter how gratifying Ninety-six would find that to be. Yuma wouldn’t stay still once Ninety-six utilizes the knife, cutting out a gorgeous slice of Yuma as though he were some sweet, life-sized cake. But Yuma would taste good, Ninety-six guesses, and Yuma would look good, stretched out like that, prepared and pretty for Ninety-six to play with as they pleased.

Yuma leaves his food unfinished. He knows Obomi is right; if he eats too fast, his stomach will hurt, but his appetite fades as his temper flares, and so he can’t eat with a wanna-be destroyer of Earth in the same room as him, giving off bad vibes. “Done,” Yuma clips as he stands, then struts away. He stops at the kitchen entrance, though, and doesn’t turn around as he says, “You go rest too, Obomi. That prick is gonna clean up tonight. They’re going to clean and put everything away as nicely as Obomi can do it.” He leaves.

Ninety-six seethes over the water in the sink, the smell of soap that accompanies it, the bubbles that accumulate on the plates and their hands as they scrub the smooth surface of where Yuma’s dead piece of food had been. They manage to break orders, at least a little, when a nail scrapes the plate a little too hard and it leaves a mark. 

They hadn’t seen Yuma covered in bubbles, only water. Their nails would have gone right through Yuma’s skin if they could have touched him. Blood would drip more slowly and heavily down his body than mere water. If they had to bathe Yuma the way humans had to bathe their pets, Ninety-six wonders if Yuma’s skin would have been smooth under all that wash, if all the screaming and squealing would sound a little bit like the scrape of a nail on china or porcelain.

Astral visits that night. Ninety-six is tired of Astral’s blank stare, tired of the almost-bored tone they’ve grown to speak to Ninety-six with. They’ve grown tired of having to follow orders from someone like that.

What gets under Ninety-six’s skin even more, though, is Astral not even looking at them for long, not even finding Ninety-six worthy, at this point, to say anything. Astral regards Ninety-six with a once-over, checking if their placing Ninety-six into Yuma’s Keeping is still intact, before drifting into the area Yuma had prohibited Ninety-six from entering. Yuma doesn’t protest as Astral passes through Yuma’s closed, locked door, doesn’t reply with complaints and yells when Astral greets him good evening.

“Tomorrow?” Ninety-six hears from outside Yuma’s room. “Are you leaving tomorrow?” They hear the other question too, never mind that it isn’t asked aloud: “Are you taking them with you?”

“Yes,” Astral answers, gentle, in a wistful sigh. “We’re leaving tomorrow.” But Astral can come back, because they’re a hero now, a war hero and a bringer of peace between their world and this one, and they can fall in love with Yuma if they want to. They can touch Yuma, receive that foolish, human look of adoration and obedience, can keep Yuma as a servant simply because humans feel something called love. Yuma would stay still and pliant on a plate for Astral out of love.

Ninety-six can’t tell what the two of them are doing in there, in Yuma’s room, in the attic upstairs of it. They retreat, then, and not knowing what else to do with themself, they sit in the kitchen, before an empty table.

“They planned a surprise attack on us,” they would never have explained to Yuma, because they owe no human an explanation, “from here, this planet. They sent their best leaders, their strongest warriors. If Astral and the others didn’t care so much for this planet, we could have saved a lot of time, a lot of energy, and just done away with this world as soon as we found out.”

Humans look so limited and hopeless, after all, with both feet planted on the ground, with their only way across an ocean dictated by the moods of the seas and skies. Mister Heartland could never have been a major player without the Barians, and even Kaito’s awesome strength relied on complex technology that threatened to tear his insides apart. And Yuma, Astral’s pet, was nothing but a puppy, a handsome puppy that supported Astral– for what? Friendship?

“Your world is so weak. The only reason you see destruction as a bad thing is because you would have such a hard time surviving.” They would never confess this side of themself to a human, never mind Astral, or any of the other overly compassionate Numbers. “But humans like it too, don’t you? To be stronger than something, have power over something. You’d like it too, wouldn’t you, Yuma, to be able to order around even someone as strong as me everyday? Don’t you think flexing your powers, watching something wilt and tear for you, is fun?”

They picture wrapping up Yuma like a present for themself, having Yuma stare up at them with some dumb, faithful look, imagines Yuma’s perfect back and arms and legs, his wet, slippery flesh, stretched out and ready for Ninety-six to eat slowly, making sure all the pieces carved out will be as pretty as the human they came from.

They close their eyes and will for the fantasies to stay with them, even tomorrow, even days from now and maybe a long time after that – to keep them occupied when nothing else in their time as a prisoner might.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, you might also like the 96/Yuma series [what you haven’t had before](https://archiveofourown.org/series/322730), which follows similar themes and has been added onto with a short backdated piece also. Thanks for reading!


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